My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}

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The cold air stung my lungs with every breath as I sprinted down the empty street toward Ethan’s place. Each exhale burst into frantic white clouds that hung in the wintry night like ghosts I couldn’t escape. My sneakers slapped against the wet pavement, the noise echoing too loudly in the quiet neighborhood.

My thoughts kept spiraling back to the study, Keith’s calm voice saying the motel had been "handled," the casual way he referred to Ethan as if he was just some minor inconvenience that could be sorted later. Each step felt heavier, weighed down by the sickening certainty that had settled in my chest the moment I slipped out of the house without a second glance.

It wasn’t just that Keith was suspicious anymore; he was right in the thick of it. Maybe he was the one who gave the order. Maybe he pulled the trigger himself. Either way, the man who smiled at charity dinners and called me his "stepson" in front of cameras and in the house had blood on his hands, and Ethan...who deserved to know the truth more than anyone was completely in the dark.

And Adrien...god, Adrien.

How was i supposed to just tell him that his father, the man who raised him...was a murderer?

I reached the front porch gasping, my chest heaving, and knocked on the door harder than I intended. My knuckles throbbed, and my hands trembled so violently that I had to brace them flat against the wood just to steady myself.

For what felt like an eternity, nothing happened, and panic clawed at my throat...maybe he wasn’t home, maybe he’d gone somewhere I couldn’t follow, maybe I was already too late. Then I heard footsteps inside, heavy and deliberate, and the door creaked open.

Ethan stood there in sweatpants and an old hoodie, his hair messy, like he’d been running his hands through it for ages. The porch light caught the sharp angles of his face, making his eyes shimmer almost silver. Surprise flickered across his features for a brief moment before it hardened into something colder and more guarded.

Not that I expected him to receive me with open arm after what happened at the Snowball...

"Noah?"

That one word held so much weight...surprise, fatigue, and the lingering shadow of anger that hadn’t entirely faded. I could see his shoulders tighten, and his hand gripped the edge of the door as if he was already plotting how fast he could shut it.